


blood silhouette

by spoonsoflegends



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hearing Voices, Hurt/Comfort, Realistic Minecraft, for the blood god to be specific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoonsoflegends/pseuds/spoonsoflegends
Summary: Techno doesn't like fighting. He's indifferent to it at best and downright repulsed at worst.But one day, he wakes up to a cacophony of voices crowding his head, and they demand blood.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 43
Kudos: 312





	blood silhouette

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, my headcanon is that Philza adopted Techno first and it was just the two of them for a while, and a few years later Phil acquired Two More Children(TM).

It doesn’t happen gradually.

One day, Techno is fine. The next day, there are voices in his head.

He wakes up to the clamor of hundreds of _people_ in his brain, and he can’t even make out what they’re saying. Phil never forgets that day— his usually calm, composed son bursting into his father’s room in tears, gasping for breath, clutching at the back of Phil’s shirt and squeezing so hard he can hardly breathe. “There’s voices, Phil,” he manages through his sobs. “There’s voices and they— they want blood. They keep sayin’ things, I can’t— _I can’t—”_

Phil doesn’t know what to do, so he just takes in a shaky breath, hugs his son tighter, and murmurs reassurances to him, until the sun comes up and he finally calms down.

“Are they quieter now?” Phil asks, careful not to be too loud.

Techno is a dead weight against his shoulder. He had passed out. Sweat is on his brow and Phil hopes that when he wakes up again, the voices will be gone.

Fate isn’t so kind.

He guides the young piglin, still shaking, to breakfast once he wakes again, and tries not to jump every time Techno mumbles something to the voices.

“They’re quieter now,” he says, a bit louder at some point, and that’s that.

The trembling only dies down near midnight.

Some of the voices are kind. They tell him it’s okay, they’ll settle down soon, this always happens when they find a new vessel, he’ll be… okay. That they’re sorry he was so young— only fourteen, most of them were at least twenty when they

Others seem to have their own issues. They like the letter “E” a lot. They think it’s funny.

The final ones are… the only way Techno would describe them is murderous. They’re bloodthirsty. **BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD,** they chant. Who is the Blood God? he asks. **BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD,** they say. **BLOOD,** they say.

True to the kind voices’ words, they do settle down in another few days, until it’s just a constant droning in the back of his mind, somewhat easy to tune out as long as he does something else. He takes to helping Phil out more in housework and pointedly ignoring the voices demanding blood at the sight of every living creature. It’s hard to ignore them, sometimes, and when they ask him questions, those questions will echo around his head as they all latch onto it and repeat it for him, as if he can’t already hear it. Techno can’t seem to communicate with them telepathically, which would have been a relief. No. Instead he has to freak Phil out by responding to them out loud before the repetition of what they want to know gives him a headache.  
  


“Some of the voices like you, Phil,” he says one day, out of the blue.

Phil nearly jumps. Techno hardly speaks to him recently, and to be addressed directly is surprising, to say the least.

“They do?”

“Yeah. I think… I don’t know. They seem to know what you’re doing even when I can’t see you.”

From where he’s making soup, Phil frowns and turns to face his son. “What do you mean?”

Techno shakes his head. “Uh, the day before yesterday, when you were gettin’ wheat, and I was asleep, they told me that’s what you were harvesting. They said something about bread that day, to go help you bake it. And when you were reorganizing your books and when you talked to that wandering trader. And…” he lists off some more occurrences.

He shivers once he’s done. Phil wonders what the voices were saying to him just then.

Phil never forgets that time because it’s when Techno became different. Techno had never liked fighting before. When Phil had brought him back from the Nether, his eyes still sparkled at the sight of gold, yes, but he wrinkled his nose at the sight of blood, something other piglins were indifferent to. Phil just chalked it up to him being part Player then. He really, truly, never liked fighting— whenever they passed through fighting-oriented servers, he plainly avoided the arenas, gripping Phil’s hand tighter and quickening his pace to tug his father along faster. He grumbled about armor being uncomfortable and heavy and left the fighting to Phil, who never missed an opportunity to remind him of the time he cut his leg on a sweet berry bush and was too squeamish about the cut to even watch his father bandage it.

Phil doesn’t know what he’s thinking a lot of the time. And now, even less so.

The day Techno says he’s going to Hypixel on purpose is, Phil thinks, the day he stops fighting the voices.

“You don’t need to come,” he promises. “I’ll be back in a few days.”  
  


Techno enters Hypixel and the voices _roar_ at the prospect of arenas. They still won’t tell him _what_ they are.

Server mechanics for worlds vary, and some of them choose the older method of portals to enter and exit. It’s clunky, sure, but never fails. Newer ones just give the players an option to focus and transport themselves in and out. Hypixel combines both. Focusing to exit and enter the server as a whole, portals to get around certain sub-areas. When he opens his eyes, he’s at the general spawn.

The server is busy and people rush from place to place. Techno is ushered to a fighting game— he doesn’t even catch the name of it— and teleports himself into a round of it before he can stop himself and realizes he’s slipping. The voices are really loud here— he can hardly hear the commotion around him. They’re nearly controlling him now, and if the bustle of the server wasn’t so overwhelmingly foreign to him, Techno would be more scared of it. He’s thrown into the game, and looks around quickly to find himself on an island and with a chest in front of him, and opens it to find a set of items. 

A sword, some armor, a few potions— regeneration, maybe? Instant health? He doesn’t recognize them immediately—, a golden apple, and some long wooden planks haphazardly tossed in there, about five feet long each. Techno has to squint from the enchantments in this chest— nearly everything inside other than the wood is covered in runes. He isn’t very good at reading them yet, but he thinks the sword has sharpness on it? It’s made of diamond, a refractive substance, but the enchantment on it causes it to catch the light and somehow multiply it, bouncing around in a writhing, blinding pattern that reflects onto the walls.

They’re all startlingly clean, too. The only thing that seems to be keeping the armor shiny, though, is the enchantments on it— the iron is dulled with use and the enchanted coating seems to be chipping off in places like the base of the chestplate and boots. Armor isn’t meant to last this long without repair. Phil told him— most people don’t notice that enchantments wear off after a few decades because their armor breaks by then.

He clumsily fits the chestplate over his shirt. It’s just a plain white tunic, and the enchanted iron with its straps and buckles is fastened with unnaturally steady hands. The voices whisper reassurances to him. Well, the kind ones do. The bloodthirsty ones are still just shrieking in excitement.

When he finishes fixing the chestplate— god, it’s so clunky— he puts on the leggings and the boots, all bright and shining and near painful to look at, and falters. There’s nowhere to put the potions, apple, and planks, what is he supposed to do now?

After a moment of hesitation, he looks at the regeneration— he hopes it’s regeneration— splash potion and the hissing, sparkling liquid inside. Techno smashes it onto the ground and watches the almost-liquid-mostly-powder mixture splinter into the air, settling in slimy dust on his skin and clothes. Immediately, he feels stronger— he leaves the second potion behind, stuffs the golden apple underneath the loose chestplate with a quick prayer to **(THE BLOOD GOD,** the voices chant) that it doesn’t fall out, and runs out of the dip in the island he’s standing on with his sword in one hand, set of wood planks in his other, careful to step over the shards of glass. 

Sure enough, there’s a larger island in the center with other people rummaging through chests and some already fighting each other at. Techno checks the base of his island and sees that— yes, there’s a notch in the side of it, conveniently the size of the wooden planks he’s been given. He fits one into the slot and finds that the next plank sticks to the previous one, as though by magic. He bridges over carefully, and finds himself just a few short.

**JUMP,** the voices shout.

He jumps across.

Techno can hardly hear the fighting around him from the noise of the voices’ excitement.

**BEHIND YOU,** they shriek, and Techno narrowly avoids a stab to the back from an enemy whose face he can’t make out from under the dull brown hood. For a moment, he’s at a loss for what to do, but when the other Player lunges again, he parries it.

Techno hasn’t-

He doesn’t fight. He’s never fought before, how did he—

He grips the sword harder and swings it.

It sinks into his opponent’s side and his vision goes white as the voices see blood spill out and they _roar._

Techno doesn’t see much for a while after that.

When his vision clears, he’s heaving for breath and his arms are drenched in blood, his shirt spattered with blood and torn. Bodies are strewn across the island, not yet respawned. The voices are screaming in excitement.

**POG,** they say. **YOU WON,** they say. **EASY,** they say.

He— did he do this? Did he—

The corpses dissipate into thin air as they respawn elsewhere, and as fireworks go off and Techno removes his armor, he feels like laughing.

He thinks he might have had fun…? And somehow, he’s more energized than before.

The voices thirst for more. He supposes another round might… he doesn’t know what he supposes. He doesn’t even know where he’s going. He hasn’t kept track of his movements so far and he—

He’s signed up for another of the same minigame, hardly aware of his motions. When he’s teleported to another island, all it takes is the sight of the sword for the voices to take over.

He doesn’t see much for a _long_ while after that.

  
A week passes.

Phil waits. A few days can mean a week, he supposes. Techno might have met new friends, he supposes. He might be doing something fun, he supposes. That’s alright. Phil tends to his home and his crops, and he waits.

Another one passes, and the gnawing worry grows. He knows he shouldn’t have let his son out so soon after he’d become used to the damn voices. What if he’s in trouble? If he’s been caught somewhere? If they’ve convinced him to commit some crime? He knows his son is strong enough to resist them, but Techno’s not used to the city.

Another week passes.

Phil snaps. He pulls on his hat and leaves his home to go find him. Hypixel was the last place he went, but god knows where he might be now. That server is a good place to start, though. If anything, he can ask to check the admin logs to see when the piglin had come and left.

He enters the server, and the unfamiliar buzz of energy accompanied by the certainty of respawning washes over him. It’s busy, and loud, and Phil is reminded why he never liked this place all that much. He wanders around, trying to organize a search plan, for a few minutes when he spots one of the arenas a fair distance from spawn— Skyblock, it seems, with an ongoing game. It’s one of the ones near spawn, with an unusual amount of people watching. They crowd around the edge of the arena, leaning over the handrails, talking amongst each other and pointing. He strolls over, somewhat curious, and tries to slip through the crowd.

No give.

He sees a somewhat less-dense group of people and shoves past them to peer into the arena, ignoring the several dirty looks he gets.

And he doesn’t think anything could have prepared him for the sight.

His own son— his own peaceful, squeamish, war-hating son— Techno, laughing in the middle of it all. (Phil must’ve caught the end of a match, then.) The piglin is covered in blood and heaving, his sword— god, Phil can’t even tell what material it is from the grime and guts all over it— loosely gripped in his hand, as the dead bodies of other competitors lay around the arena. Stabbing the weapon into the ground, he catches his breath and laughs again and shouts something.

Not many people seemed to have caught it, but a few people murmur amongst each other— what did he say? They ask. Someone answers, “He said _blood for the blood god.”_

The round ends. The bodies dissipate as their owners are allowed to respawn. The arena’s gore flickers out of existence and the blood on Techno’s tunic, armor, and items does too. The sword— Phil sees it’s enchanted diamond just before it’s summoned back to wherever it came from— disappears along with his armor. The haphazardly bridged wooden planks and cobble paths are gone in the blink of an eye and the arena is back to normal. Techno is teleported out shortly after.

Phil breaks out of the crowd and sprints for the place he swears he remembers players are released from. He sees the small area and recognizes some of the former-corpses there— a woman in a green jacket grumbling to her friend, a phantom hybrid rubbing at their chest where a stab wound must have been, a short avian hybrid checking their purse, and at least six more, but no Techno among them.

Phil realizes with a sinking feeling that he must be at another match already.

He makes his way to the center of the respawn area and sits there, even as Players give him odd glances for it. Most people don’t tend to wait there. They’re usually taking part in the games.

He waits. He just sits there and waits as hours upon hours upon god damned _hours_ pass and his son doesn’t appear.

Until finally, an hour after sundown and countless matches later, Techno emerges. Phil sees him first and stands up sharply, trembling with— he doesn’t even know. Rage? Fear?

Techno saunters— he _saunters_ , the nerve, out of the area, and he carries himself so confidently, the clack of his boots— those are _new boots—_ ringing on the ground. He’s nothing like the timid kid he was just— just weeks ago! What the fuck happened?

Phil clears his throat.

Techno doesn’t turn around. This area isn’t nearly as loud as the rest of the server. Did he really not hear? That’s impossible.

Night has fallen. Most people leave and return to their own servers at night, but there is a housing district here where the regulars can stay. Phil doesn’t want to believe that Techno’s really been in Hypixel all this time. Surely, he must have switched to another one at some point. Surely.

Phil follows him quietly, the energy to shout somehow zapped away from him.

Techno doesn’t acknowledge anyone at all as he walks to the housing area, even as he pulls attention and sideways glances and slowing of pace to catch a glimpse of him. It’s _much_ quieter at the housing area— a day’s events usually leave the server near empty at nighttime, especially this district, and those who do stay during later hours are usually taken with the midnight games.

Something awful is roiling in Phil’s stomach, the same thing that kept him silent following Techno here. He finally speaks again just as Techno finds what must be his house.

“Techno.” It comes out more firmly than he feels.

The piglin in question seems to hear it now. The atmosphere is awfully hushed here.

He stops in his tracks. He turns. He stares at Phil uncomprehendingly for a moment, as if he doesn’t even recognize him, and then—

He cracks.

“Phil?” he croaks.

He shatters.

Phil runs forward and hugs him tightly, transporting them both back home to his own world as he squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on the feeling of _not being here._ The hum of Hypixel’s energy disappears and Techno slumps immediately— god, how much was he depending on that the past few weeks? Phil’s never stayed there for long, but he’s heard about regulars only needing one or two hours of sleep from the sheer energy the server grants.

He hears deep, ragged breaths and he’s supporting all of his son’s weight now, which is— not ideal, Phil would like to say. He’s heavy, and a side effect of having wings is that Phil is much lighter than most other Players— semi-hollow bones and all.

“I’m— I’m sorry, Phil, I was— how long was I gone for? I—”

“Three weeks, Techno,” he interrupts, harsher than intended. “I wait for you for three weeks and when I see you again, you’re— you’re murdering people like nobody’s business. What the fuck, Techno?”

“The voices, they— they just, when I got there they were so loud and—” Techno’s speech dissolves into mumbling that Phil can’t make out.

The blond composes himself. He can be angry later. For now, he guides his son up the stairs, puts him to bed, and thinks.

  
Techno doesn’t go back there again for a while.

(And by a while, he means a few months. The voices had their blood, and yet they still crave more.)

In the meantime, though, he has explaining to do. Phil waits for him to talk, and Techno tries his best to tell his father how the voices just… made him do it.

He doesn’t know more than that.

Phil sighs. He stares at his son. He goes to his enchanting room, comes out an hour later with an armful of old books, and they start to research together.

“Hey, Techno,” he asks. “When you were out there, the watchers said you said ‘Blood for the Blood God.’ Any idea what that is?”

And when the voices hear that, they cheer. **BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD,** they all shriek at once. **BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD.**

“That’s.” Techno gulps, pointedly shoving the noise down. “That’s what they always say. The voices’ve been sayin’ that since the start.”

Phil bites his lip worryingly. He turns back to his book, keeping a watchful eye out for anything about this Blood God.

In those few months, they find nothing.

And the noise in his head grows louder, until finally Techno cracks and decides to go back to Hypixel, late at night once Phil is asleep. Just one round. That’s all. That’s _all._

One round turns to two, which turns to three, which turns to eight in the thrall of those cursed fucking voices, and by the time he rips himself out of the white haze and goes back home, it’s noon and Phil is waiting for him.

He hangs his head in shame.

Eventually, they work out a deal. He can go there, once every other week, as long as he practices controlling the voices in the meantime. As long as he can stay lucid and in control.

And he does.

It takes months.

It takes months in which two children are brought back to their home, a tall, lanky, curly-haired boy around Techno’s age and a blond child around six or seven. Techno is wary of them, until the tall boy introduces himself as Wilbur and struggles to lift a chest from the floor of his room. Techno sighs, pushes him aside, and hoists it up with ease.

When Wilbur just looks at him in shock, Techno rolls his eyes. “Just tell me where to put it.”

The kind voices pester him about Wilbur. He knows the boy is malnourished. He knows Wilbur needs his help. He would be very happy to know these things if the damn voices didn’t tell him that every time Wilbur struggled with something on the other side of the house.

He gets stronger, though, thanks to Phil. Soon, they’re thick as thieves. It takes a year for Techno to call them family, but it’s a year well spent. The voices fade to nothing more than a fact of his life and something to ignore.

Tommy’s eyes shine at the prospect of seeing his brother— at seeing The Blade, as he so admiringly calls him, fight. Apparently, the two of them had been by Hypixel in their shared past and they already seem to have heard of him from there. Techno’s heart twists at the thought.

He and Wilbur spar sometimes, with wooden swords and careful blows. Phil… is proud of him, Techno thinks. He feels it in the way Phil smiles at him for not letting the voices take over again.

Their fighting skill is indistinguishable from his own now.

It takes an even longer time for him to tell Wilbur and Tommy about the voices. They make fun of them, actually. The voices like the two, a lot.

Techno likes them a lot too.

It happens when he and Wilbur decide to explore other servers. They stay away from the fighting ones— Techno, despite being well known in Hypixel, sticks to his schedule and only goes there once or twice a week. They find an old one while they’re looking around and enter it. They don’t really expect to find anyone there, but there are.

It’s one of the much older ones, with a large portal entry. It swirls muted orange and gives them both the signature portal nausea. Techno’s a bit more used to it, but Wilbur stops for a moment to breathe.

They look around and— ah. It’s an archive of some sort. It’s the oldest archive Techno’s ever seen. There are clean shelves that reach to the ceiling with ancient, somehow dust-free tomes. There doesn’t seem to be any exit to the room at all other than the portal they took to come in, and Flying is enabled— three or four people hover in the air to look through the books near the top. This room seems to be all the server is about. Interesting.

Wilbur seems to be conflicted between leaving and staying to see if they have anything on geography or music. Techno doesn’t particularly care. When Wilbur wanders in and starts searching for signs, he picks a random direction and follows it.

There’s at least thirteen people looking around or reading. None of them bat an eyelash at the two kids who entered.

Techno’s voices get louder here.

**Left shelf**

**Find the book**

**Go**

**Blood for the blood god**

**Blood for the blood god**

They hardly ever say that when he’s not fighting anymore. Why now?

He follows their advice, though, cause there’s nothing better to do. He lets the voices guide him till they’re satisfied and he plucks the book they want out from one of the middle shelves. It’s dark red with no text on the front. He flips it open and thumbs through some pages and—

Ah.

It’s a book about old gods.

Techno asks someone, a turtle hybrid, he thinks, if he can bring the book back to his home world. They tell him no. He hums and picks a spot on the floor to start reading until Wilbur comes back from his search. It seems to have been fruitless; Wilbur asks Techno something like “can we go home,” but he isn’t really paying attention.

Techno tells his brother to go back home without him. He does so.

Reluctantly, of course. Wilbur gives Techno a strange look before heading back into the portal and leaving.

There’s only one window in the library, and by the time the bright midday light fades to darkness, Techno’s made it through half the tome. Most of the people have left by now. Just one or two still stick around to read their books.

The Blood God was widely feared, according to this unknown author. Offerings were often left out for them in old civilizations, the same ones that laid down portals that became ruined over time, the same ones whose residents’ corpses became animated in the forms of skeletons and zombies, the same ones who set up temples for the sky gods and stashed explosives beneath, so that any thieves would meet a quick death instead of the sky gods’ wrath.

The book says that the Blood God was an entity that only showed in the darkest of hours, and caused Blood Nights. How creative of a name, Techno notes. They had some power over the mind, it seemed, and those who perished during the Nights would become part of the entity themselves. It doesn’t detail much about what Blood Nights were, but Techno can piece it together. Every so often, the people would become possessed by this god and try to kill each other. Mercilessly. Those who survived would live the rest of their lives in shame over what they’d done to their neighbors, friends, families, and those who died…

Techno doesn’t know what becoming part of the God means.

He’s not really sure he wants to.

The Blood God never showed their face. They lurked in shadows, killing those who angered them. They walked among humans. Or maybe they didn’t. The book started to delve into a lot of nonsense here.

The voices whisper, displeased. **It’s wrong,** they say. **This is bullshit,** they say. **E,** they say.

Techno sighs. He’s tired. It’s late. He looks up from the book outside. It’s dark.

**No,** the voices urge. **Don’t leave.**

**Don’t you understand?**

**It’s wrong**

**The book is wrong**

**Who wrote it**

**Who wrote it**

**Which one of us**

Techno grits his teeth. He doesn’t care. All he got from this is that the Blood God just had the fancy to possess people sometimes and no one managed to get more than that down.

The portal makes its signature metallic noise as someone enters the world. Techno doesn’t bother looking up and keeps his head down, shutting his eyes for a moment and pressing the base of his palms into them to stop the rising headache that always starts when the voices get like this.

“Techno?”

He opens his eyes to see Phil standing there. 

His father looks tired.

“You coming back, mate?”

“Yeah.”

  
The story comes to him in pieces after that.

A barely heard whisper after a spar with Wilbur: **_wonder how long till I corrupt._ **

A single shout during a camp night, as Phil sets up the tent and Tommy steals his new cape: **LET’S HAVE ANOTHER BLOOD NIGHT.** Followed by a cacophony of **NO.**

(A reply, shortly after: **it’s been ages since that we can’t split anymore)**

A bored question one day during a wheat harvest— one of the rare few times they direct questions at each other and not at Techno: **how old were you all when you started hearing?**

The question is unanswered, swept away in the rest of the chatter, but Techno remembers it. He remembers it for a long time.

Several months later, after another fight won in Hypixel: **Yeah, this one will last a while.**

During dinner, as he tries to eat his mushroom stew: **How long till he’s one of us—**

He decides he’s had enough of it one night and slips out of the bedroom he and Wilbur share. He doesn’t close the door completely— the latch clicking would probably wake Wilbur up, the light sleeper. He walks through the house on his damn tiptoes because no one other than Tommy would be undisturbed by anything louder. He makes his way out to the plains behind their house, lit with torches dotted across the field.

“What are you?” Techno whispers to the clamor in his mind, away from his family.

The voices, for once, seem not to notice. They ignore him, busily going about their chattering about E and Pog and how chilly it is outside.

“What are you?” he repeats, louder.

He suddenly feels small. They buzz on and on without him, and at this point he feels like they’re ignoring him on purpose. That’s— why? _Why?_ He takes a deep breath and starts walking forward, away from the house, closer to the bordering woods. The woods are lit up, too, with lanterns and not torches, so fire won’t spread. There won’t be any mobs there to kill. He’ll be— he’ll be fine. Just fucking fine, as long as they tell him—

He repeats the question louder again and he gets no answer.

They’re so loud again, it’s like when they first arrived and he— He just wants to know, and why won’t they fucking—

_“WHAT ARE YOU?”_ he shouts.

The lanterns hung on trees and placed on haphazard posts flicker out.

The forest is dark.

He can hardly see a thing.

And the voices have gone dead silent.

… 

Techno thinks it’s a good time to head back, actually. 

But when he turns around to leave the forest, there’s eyes in the shadows, bright white and empty. They stare at him and he stays, trying to ignore the fear he suddenly feels.

**We’re the Blood God, Techno,** the voices all tell him. An eerie, stifling silence stretches after their words. **Don’t you understand?**

**We all had the voices too,** a single one says.

**And when we died, we became one of them.**

**And we picked another host.**

**Blood for the Blood God.**

**Blood for the Blood God**

**Blood For the Blood God Blood for the-**

And it’s a cruel, belated realization that this is going to be Techno’s fate when he runs out of respawns, when he gives up. He’s going to be one of those voices and he’s going to corrupt until he’s just another one of them demanding, screaming, blood, and the kind ones are just the ones who died recently and they’ll be crazy eventually too—

The eyes shutter out and the torches relight. The voices start buzzing in the back of his head again as though nothing happened. He staggers home, trying to stop shaking _stop shaking stop_

He makes a decision as he’s lying awake in his bed, then.

Technoblade will never die.

**Author's Note:**

> If any of the creators state that they're uncomfortable with fanfiction, I'll gladly delete this work! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, any comments on what you thought would be greatly appreciated ^^


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